


Eternal Song

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Creature Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, FOD (kind of), Human Castiel, M/M, Singer Dean Winchester, Siren Dean Winchester, former Siren Sam Winchester, impermanent brief character death, manager Sam Winchester, talent scout Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Years ago, sirens Dean and Sam Winchester broke with their people and left the ocean to hunt their thralls on land. But after spending so much time among humans and away from their roots, they both begin to hate what they are forced to do to survive. And after Dean meets, and thralls, Castiel Novak, he begins to wonder if his own survival is all that worth it anymore if it means killing the man he falls in love with.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 56
Kudos: 162
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Eternal Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xHaruka17x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHaruka17x/gifts).



> This is an FTH fic for the amazing, [xHaruka17x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHaruka17x/profile), who has been SO INCREDIBLY PATIENT with me this whole year as I tried to string together a paltry amount of words for a fic in these crazy times. Thank you so much, Haruka, I hope you enjoy it!

"Dean," Sam says in that voice that always means trouble.

Dean doesn't even bother to glance up from his coffee. "Yeah."

"You're wearing out."

Dean slumps forward over the metal table, curling further into himself in a futile attempt to stave off the cold seeping into his bones. "I know."

"You gotta find someone soon."

"No kidding."

"Dean."

Dean whips around on the stool even though it makes him dizzy. "I got it, Sam, okay? I'll find someone at the gig, but I don't have to like it."

Sam approaches and claps a hand on Dean's plaid-covered shoulder. "I know you hate it. I did, too. In modern times it sucks even worse, but..." he shrugs helplessly. "It's who we are."

"Don't mean to be a bitch about it," Dean mutters, endlessly contrite in his brother's presence.

"You don't," Sam agrees in his most annoyingly maternal tone that wipes away Dean's guilt with a quickness. "I just wanna keep my brother alive, is all."

Dean snorts. "This ain't an intervention, Sammy. I'm not that low. I just like to put off feeding as long as I can."

"Yeah. I get that."

Dean slumps back around to his cup of coffee. "Wish I had what you and Eileen got, is all. I mean, look at you." He gestures vaguely over his shoulder in Sam's general direction. "You're practically human now, man."

Sam huffs a laugh and drops himself onto the stool across the table. He grabs his own mug and pours himself the last of the coffee. "We'll never be _totally_ human, but I get what you're saying. Human enough to not need to feed anymore."

All in all, in Dean's humble opinion, being a siren sucks ass. These days it's not all dragging sailors into Davy Jones' locker, but it's hardly glamorous. And it's not like people write cool ballads about it anymore. Technically, any body of water will do for their purposes, but it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Dean's read all the damn human tales and mythology on his kind, and it's sort entertaining in a morbidly fascinating way. Some things are right, or close enough. Some things are dead wrong. Some things he doesn't even know about, especially in regard to foreign sirens. He's never met one out of his native waters. Never cared to. And besides Sam now, everyone he grew up with in his school - his family - is dead. Plus the fact that no one has ever written or talked about the shit Sam did to stop having to kill people for his own survival. He's a bit of a legend in their corner of the bestiary, and that's why the brothers decided years ago to abandon the ocean to live on land as much as possible, adopting human names and lying enough to get all the necessary paperwork to turn them halfway into something they're whole-way not. Sam isn't too fond of being famous or the Twitter levels of hate that come with it.

Aside from the biological imperative to eat people, sirens come in all shapes and sizes, just like humans. Even better, they look and can act enough like them to blend in when they're hunting. That's pretty important nowadays. It used to be they all kind of hated it because what was the point of looking like your dinner? All sailors ever needed to do was hear a siren's voice or music and they'd be goners. But in modern times, there are security cameras and facial recognition, and DNA left behind that can land them in hot water (forgiving the pun) pretty easily. And sailors aren't often in uncharted waters alone without any means of communication anymore, so the food source has dried up. Especially considering that even lone ships have _somebody_ looking for them if they get lost. They aren't always found, but the risk is huge. It's the primary reason that all of Dean and Sam's former school is gone. Fished to extinction, as it were.

Those who have survived and adapted are now just a bunch of land-based murders, in Dean's eyes. They go to bars, clubs, concerts, museums, amusement parks, and universities. Wherever there's a high percentage of humans who can hear them while they're trying to thrall someone. And with luck, someone will get caught in the trap. Most humans are susceptible to being enthralled by a siren, but not just any siren will do. That's why in the old days they traveled in large schools. A group of them could take a whole ship easily. A single siren has to go through a lot more trouble to find a meal.

The problem is, and always has been, that a thrall goes both ways. Once it's triggered, both the siren and the human are helpless to fight it. So, it comes down to one's survival, or the death of both. Dean isn't sure which option is better anymore. Hasn't been for a long damn time.

"Maybe one day you'll be able to do what I did," Sam says wistfully, busting Dean out of his reverie. "I hope you do."

Dean sighs, polishing off the last of his hot drink. "You hate doing this for me, as much as I hate doing it at all. I'm sorry you're stuck with me."

"I'm not," Sam says without hesitation. "You're my brother. This is what we are. We can wish that we were something else, but we're not. I'm not any better than you just because I don't get caught by the thrall anymore."

Dean pushes to his feet, the dizziness leaving him alone for the moment. "Good to know. Anyway, I'm gonna get ready. When's the show?"

"You're on stage at ten, only door tickets are left. Should be a decent crowd, and most of them will be there for you as the headliner anyway, so they're primed for a thrall. You'll find someone, no problem."

"Thanks, Sammy. I'm gonna do some warmups and shit, so lemme know when it's time to head out."

Sam gives him a nod and then leaves Dean to himself to prepare for the show.

Being in the public eye is a risky venture for a siren. Luckily, Sam has been to human college like the weirdo Dean thinks he is, and he learned everything he needed to know about managing a band. More precisely, he learned all the ins and outs of keeping Dean famous enough to find a thrall at every single show, but not famous enough to have too much scrutiny on him. 

As he dresses for the show, he wishes for the millionth time that he could have something like normal human stage fright. He doesn't get nervous before a show. He always just feels sort of sick knowing why he's performing. Why he _has_ to perform. Life was a lot simpler before living among humans and thus developing emotions like pity and empathy that won't go away no matter how much alcohol and bad language he throws at them.

Sam gets them out the door right on time as always, yammering into his phone to the rest of the band and the crew doing final checks at the venue. Dean takes the wheel as always, speeding them through the streets to the neon lights of the city brimming with promise on a Saturday night. 

The venue is a lot nicer than what he's used to and Dean eyes the marquee of the local historic theatre warily through the Impala's windshield. "What the fuck, Sammy?" he mutters.

Sam puffs out a breath. "I know you don't like the more high profile places, but --"

"-- Because it's too damn risky, man!"

"It's less risky than those seedy bars with thirty people in them!" Sam argues. "The less people, the more they pay attention to each other! Plus, the indie label is on me about getting you some better gigs to boost your sales. It's two hundred people. Sold out. This is a solid job. And a solid income. We are way past grifting to get enough to keep the lights on."

Dean scoffs. "Who cares what the fucking label says? I'm not in it for the fame or the money."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a pure artist," Sam says, world weary. "But how much harder do you think it'll be for you if you lose your contract? Don't you remember what it was like when we first moved up here? This is the best case scenario. Neither one of us wants to have to live out of suitcases, fighting for survival again." Once Dean throws the car into park in the back lot reserved for performers and staff, Sam turns to face his brother. "We got through so much. It doesn't have to fall apart."

Dean meets his eyes seriously, feeling a swell of guilt. "You don't have to, y'know," he says gruffly.

Sam tilts his head. "Don't have to what?"

Dean gestures. "Live like this anymore. You could... I dunno... you and Eileen..."

"Don't even put that out there," Sam says with an edge. "We talked about this before. I'm not unhappy with what we have. What _I_ have. I'm just worried about you, is all. That's not gonna stop just because I can live more... whatever, _normally_. You're my brother, Dean. I can help you. I'm not leaving you."

Dean's lips tilt up slightly. He knew Sam would say that. Kinda loves and hates it in equal measure. Sam can't figure out how to repeat what he did to become more human, so he sticks around to make life more manageable for his big brother. Maybe Dean is just being too stubborn these days. It's just... he sees how good it's been for Sam to give up his nature and settle down as much as he can. He's not sure when it happened, but gradually they've both started to consider "normal" to be "human." Originally they hadn't even thought about taking on the morals of a race they weren't even a part of, but it has a way of seeping in the longer the exposure. The good and the bad. But what Sam's got is good. On late nights, Dean wishes more than anything he had it, too. It might not be in the stars for him, but that's okay. He's pretty damn content making sure his little brother isn't struggling too much.

"Yeah, all right," he says eventually. "I'll do my best and all."

Sam grins. "Break a leg. I'll be in the crowd stage left."

Dean nods, pushing open the door. "Let's get this show on the road."

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

Castiel Novak has been to hundreds of these indie shows all over the country. Cities, towns, hotels, bars, clubs. He knows almost every single venue. And he is tired of visiting them. Recently, more and more, he has started to wonder about retirement. He finds himself struggling to find the enthusiasm to watch a new band perform every few nights. And he won't say anything to anyone about it, but there have been a few this year alone that his professional brain had recognized as worth signing, but his personal brain had simply not wanted to deal with.

People change, music changes, profits change, and Castiel is tired as hell of it. He hardly expects his job to bring him constant joy, since that's not what any work is, but in this industry, the people behind the talent are usually in it for the love of it, not just the potential for a decent paycheck.

In fact, if he's being honest with himself, tonight's trip might as well be kicking off his farewell tour. The band scheduled as the headliner hasn't so much as pinged his radar before, so there is likely no reason to bother listening to them in a professional sense. They are signed to an indie label, and Google tells him they have been for years. Either they aren't quite good enough to pique the interest of a major label like his, or they are perfectly content where they are. Probably the latter considering they have been around for more than a decade and still sell out shows.

No, in reality, Castiel is here for the venue. When he first became a talent scout, this location was the beginning of it all. He has signed a grand total of one band he heard here, which is hardly an achievement for him, but they made a decent career, though nothing to write home about. Tonight is about the nostalgia. And the classic rock, which he has been sorely missing lately.

Despite not being here in a business capacity, he has checked the band's website to get an idea of what he is in for. Dean Winchester is a good enough reason to buy a ticket, frankly. Their site claims that they are a modern rock band with classic roots. They list inspiration from Led Zeppelin to AC/DC, and that pleases Castiel quite a bit. His soul has been aching for music that isn't recycled pop and dance music. The label he represents is pushing towards that, and Castiel very much feels too old and stale to bother with teenagers and electronic drum kits. Not that he begrudges any genre of music. He is simply learning to accept that his tastes have long since passed out of popularity.

So he sits back and peers around the historic theatre as the seats fill around him. It appears in their hometown, the band has a decent local and loyal following. Many attendees are wearing shirts, pins, patches, bracelets, and other merchandise. They also look on the whole to be older than the recent audiences that Castiel has been a part of. Silently, Castiel is thankful or that, too. No matter what, he has always been slightly uncomfortable among younger audiences. He doesn't feed off of crowd energy the same as most people do - especially when he is observing an act professionally, but also doesn't always enjoy sitting backstage or on the sidelines with a less favorable view. But tonight the people who occupy the seats beside him are about his age or older. He smiles and nods to those who pass him on the way to their seats and instinctively does some recon; asking the couple seated on either side of him how long they have been fans and what their favorite songs and albums are.

The couple to his right have a lot to say about Dean. They have been following him for more than a decade and haven't missed a single show in this state, or the surrounding. They tell him about his rotating band members and how he spent almost two years on a solo acoustic tour which had apparently been "a spiritual experience."

That piques Castiel's interest. His general research had said Dean can play the guitar. He'd like to hear Dean Winchester unplugged.

They talk at him and he politely listens until the lights go down and the opening act takes the stage.

They are terrible. Castiel's face hardens to a neutral deadpan that he has perfected over the years, rather than a look of absolute horror that fights ever second to make itself known.

But the crowd loves the awful opening act. Apparently it's a whole thing to have some cover band or another made of people Dean knows and most are dreadful. The audience cheers and needles, the band on stage rolling from one song to another looking like they know how bad they are and simply not caring. One of the women near Castiel leans towards him and says this is a rite of passage. It feels like one. Acutely.

Gradually, Castiel finds himself smiling. It's like a huge karaoke party. He'd rather have earplugs, however the mayhem is more infectious than it has been for him in ages. He even laughs when the band begins to play "Stairway To Heaven" and the entire theatre boos them, the lead singer booing them right back and moving on.

By the end of their hour-long set, Castiel's ears are ringing and he needs to visit the refreshment stand for a drink to take the edge off. He does so during the intermission and has plenty of time to enjoy it before Dean Winchester takes the stage.

The house lights go out, the crowd cheers and then falls quiet. A spotlight shines on the stage and Dean Winchester steps out from the wings, guitar in hand.

Castiel draws in a breath. He hasn't seen someone like this live in a very long time, and the man hasn't even started singing yet.

There's no makeup, barely any hair product, and his clothes look worn and comfortable. Artfully distressed jeans, a hunter green undershirt, and a green and gray flannel over shirt. He looks amazing. Confident. His light eyes shine in the spotlight as he takes his place center behind the mic.

"Hey, guys," he says in a melodic baritone.

The crowd goes wild.

Castiel can feel his heart start to beat slightly faster.

And without further ado, Dean picks a few notes on his guitar and then starts to play. The opening chords of "Simple Man" are immediately recognizable. 

Castiel can't explain the way that his body absolutely ignites at the sound of Dean Winchester's voice. It's... it's not angelic; not pure in the slightest. It's rough and lacks formal training, but it's also incredibly beautiful. Castiel feels as though he is under a waterfall pounding gorgeous colors and light over his head. It slows down in his veins like molasses and he loves every sound, every pitch; the deep bassy rumble and staticky high note. He doesn't even know all the songs that Dean sings. Can't recall when the rest of his band joined him on stage. The screams from the crowd don't register for a second.

Never in his life has he so much as come close to rapture from music, but this. This is... this is what the poets of old and the crazed teenage fans of new write about.

He has to talk to Dean Winchester after the show.

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

The lights go out for intermission and Dean immediately departs the stage for his dressing room where he knows Sam is already waiting for him. One of the theatre staff is right behind the curtain holding out a bottle of water and a hand towel. Dean swipes them both with a distracted "thanks."

He'd felt it take. Somewhere in the very beginning of the set he'd felt his hooks sink into someone. The house lights had been too dim, so he couldn't tell who it was for sure. The crowd is a lot bigger tonight than he's used to, so he'd spent the whole of the first half of the show trying to scan the faces. Too many of them had looked about ready to ascend, so for the first time in his life, Dean had been dying to get off stage and figure out who the hell he snared. And so strongly, too. Normally, the aching sensation is pretty vague and fairly easily ignored if he wants to. But whoever had got caught in his net had been absolutely bowled over.

Dean smiles a little as he trots to the private dressing room set aside for him, wiping the sweat from his face. "Still got it, Winchester," he mutters.

True to habit, Sam is waiting for him on the ratty olive green couch in the dressing room and he's frowning hard.

"What's with the face, Sammy?" Dean grins. "I got one. Isn't that what you told me to do?" He feels a little high right now. A little giddy. It always happens like this. As much as he hates what he is, he can't deny that it feels pretty fucking good sometimes.

"Yeah, I... yeah," Sam says. Worry creases his brow.

"Did you see who?" Dean asks, flopping down onto the chair at the mirrored dressing table. He uncaps the water and downs half of the bottle at once.

"I sure did," Sam says with that little brother tone.

Dean rolls his eyes. "So? Hot? Young? Old? Bald? Blonde? Loch Ness Monster? What, Sam? Gimme the goods."

Sam thrusts his cell phone over. The gallery is pulled up with a grainy photo of a pretty unassuming dude in the front row.

Dean pinches the screen and drags the image wider. "Huh. Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Kinda wanna mess up his hair."

"You have no idea who that is," Sam says flatly. Dean negligently tosses the phone back and Sam bobbles it with a, "hey, watch it, jerk!"

"The hell do I care?" Dean answers. "Not like I can control it, anyway. I put the trap out and someone falls in. That's how this thing works, in case you've forgotten since you've been a bitch for so long now."

With pinched lips, Sam says, "your prey is Castiel Novak, man."

Dean blinks. Shrugs. "You say that like I fucked his girlfriend or something."

Sam closes his eyes and visibly counts to ten in his head. Dean really likes doing this to his brother. Until he drops the bomb, of course. "Castiel Novak is the top grossing scout and producer for Halcyon Records, dumbass."

Dean blinks again in a whole different way. " _Oh_. Oh, shit."

"Yeah," Sam says mockingly. "Dean, you can't eat a producer."

Dean laughs. "Sammy, you ate a fucking Doctor Without Borders once, or whatever they're called. Label execs have gotta be like, ten points lower on the 'should not eat' list."

"This isn't funny!" Sam insists. "Castiel Novak is known. Like, _known_ known. If he goes missing, there will be a lot of very expensive lawyers passing money around for a lot of high profile investigations. You won't get away with it."

Dean crushes the empty water bottle in his hand and slams it into the metal trashcan by the table. "You know what, Sam? I don't fucking care anymore. And, like, what am I supposed to do about it, anyway? You may be squeaky clean since forever, but you remember how this works. I can't do shit about a thrall. It is who it is, and I either go for it, or I die. I won't get a new one until this one bites it."

Sam's eyes widen. "What are you talking about? You wanna go to jail for like, _ever_? Or get the death penalty? The richer the person, the worse the lawyers, the harsher the sentence. We can find another way! I mean, no one thought that what I did was possible until I did it, so there's gotta be a way to break a thrall before either of you two have even met! That has _got_ to be easier than becoming mostly human, right? We can figure it out!"

Leaning back heavily in the chair, Dean says, "whatever happens is easier than this. I'm just... Sammy, I'm exhausted, okay?" Fuck, he feels about a second away from crying like a baby. But he's so _tired_. He doesn't even bother to clear the lump, despite knowing Sam can hear it and will acknowledge it in some touchy-feely way that Dean won't care for. "Maybe it's fate or something, who knows? Can't I just like... have a break? You don't know what it's like going through this."

"I don't... I don't _what_?!" Sam sputters indignantly. "I don't understand?! Fuck you, Dean, I get it! I was born the same way you were! What am I not getting here?!"

"You were barely out of diapers when you went human."

"I was twenty-two!"

"You were a brat! Dude, Sam, you've almost been human longer than you were a siren! Can't you see the difference? It was a lot fucking easier fifteen years ago to be this way. But now? There's almost no way to stay under the radar. I'm paranoid, and I'm damn hungry, and I'm exhausted. If I get taken down by a record exec in a nerdy trench coat, then hell. That's kinda fitting."

Sam does that thing where he says a million prissy things at Dean without speaking a single word for a full minute until the room lights flash, giving the five minute warning. Finally, he says softly, "you're right. I don't get what you're going through anymore, but is it okay for me to not wanna lose my brother? My family? You're all I got, Dean, and I love you."

Dean stands with his brother and drags him into a tight hug. "I'm not actively looking for the end, okay? But you've got a life, and I'm proud of you. I'm _proud of you_ , Sam. You'll make it with Eileen regardless of me." He pulls back. "Let me do my thing. Just... let me have it my way this once."

Sam swallows. He shakes his head, shaggy hair hiding his face. Then he nods. "Not like I can stop you," he mumbles. "I'll make sure you aren't disturbed tonight."

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and opens the door. "Let's seal the deal then."

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

Castiel, despite himself, is used to his name and his business card being able to get him places. Therefore, he's a bit on his back foot when at the end of the show, he encounters an extremely tall brick wall of sandy hair and disapproving looks fully blocking the backstage stairs on stage left.

"Nice to meet you," the giant says flatly. "I'm Sam Winchester, Dean's brother and manager."

Castiel clears his throat. "Yes, I... um, I would like to speak to Dean... and you, of course. About a possible... deal..." he flinches inwardly. He's always been on the awkward side, but this is a lot even for him. He's always been able to put on his professional face easily. The only way to seal a deal is to be confident about it. Not like he's looking to make one. He just... why is he here?

Sam rolls his eyes a little. "I'm sure," he says under his breath sarcastically. "Look, Dean isn't looking to sign with some big record label. I'm telling you that now so you don't waste your breath. He says he'll meet with you, but he's not interested in you as a producer or as a scout."

Castiel pauses. "Then... what...?" Why is he asking? Sam's tone is all the clarification he needs.

Sam rolls his eyes even harder. "What do you think?" He steps aside to unblock the stairs as though he's issuing some kind of challenge. He nods towards the curtains. "Up to you," he says. "Second door on the right."

Surprisingly, at least in his mind, this has happened before. Not many times, of course, but... a time or two. He's never taken up the offer, though. He has nothing against groupies. It's simply not his particular style of finding a partner.

However, between one beat of his heart and the next, he's already up the stairs on the side of the stage. He startles when he realizes that and swings back around to face a smirking Sam Winchester. "Have a good night," Sam says and walks away as easy as he pleases.

And Castiel... Castiel keeps walking like he's in a trance. He's no fool. He realizes that what he is contemplating is far beyond any level of ethical professionalism he has had all these years. He can't sign Dean Winchester. No matter what, if he follows through on what his idiot ape brain is telling him to do, he would be making a mockery out of his entire career. Retirement or not, sullying his pristine record on the last go would be a regret he would die with.

He can't do that.

But he _has_ to know.

He has to.

He knocks on the dressing room door before he can think of anything else, or worse, talk himself out of it.

It swings open a second later to reveal... probably an angel. No, a sex god. No, a lust demon. No, Dean Winchester, in all his beaming, freshly showered glory.

"Sam told me I hooked a good one," he says with a rakish, lopsided smirk. He stands to the side, hanging onto the door with one arm, powerful forearm and bicep on display. "Come on in."

Castiel indeed walks right into the room and doesn't even hear the door closing behind him. Without turning to face his greatest craving, he says, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester." At least he has the sound mind to kick himself mentally for a poor choice of words. "It's... um... your show was spectacular. One of the best I have been to in my entire career."

He swallows hard, hating himself. The words are definitely true, but absolutely _have_ to sound completely insincere to someone like Dean. All Dean knows is that Castiel is in sales and trying to catch a very big fish. He closes his eyes and sighs. What does he care? He really shouldn't care. He cares quite a lot.

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

Dean grins wider and wider as he studies the humiliated curve of Castiel Novak's shoulders.

This is fun. He's kind of missed this. The humans that he snares never fail to be both a little confused and a lot embarrassed when they sink into his thrall. Prudes, all of them. It's amazing Dean's kind has managed to survive this long, really. Not many humans are willing to just do what their bodies are telling them to. It's a strange hangup, in his opinion. Sex is fun and it feels good. It doesn't have to mean some grand gesture of love forevermore, or... something. Whatever. 

Well, it's forevermore for the people who fuck _him_ , but that's beside the point, mostly.

But recognizing that Castiel is here and certainly wants him, Dean holds his breath for a second to turn off the thrall. Sam, being a big-ass nerd, had done a fair amount of research into the lore of their kind, both modern and ancient. And in the monster-y circles they tended to run in, had discovered that a siren's thrall is a mixture of hormones and pheromones that can actually be switched on and off at will, if one had both the desire and the practice. Well, Dean's had a couple damn decades of it, so it's easy enough to switch off the juice. 

For a brief second he wonders if Sam's earlier belief that they could learn how to break a thrall off totally has something to do with this particular skill.

Long ago, and to Sam's bemusement, he'd discovered that having a willing partner was preferable to an actively enthralled partner. Oh, they're all ready to go once he has them, but a thrall's mind is never clear. They're drugged in a sense, and act that way unless the juice gets turned off for a while.

It shouldn't matter to Dean one way or another. In the end they all end up so drained they're either dead or as good as in ten more years, tops, but he's allowed some principles, isn't he?

He thinks he is.

So he turns it all off and doesn't force anything. "I know my manager probably told you before, but I'll say it again; I got no interest in the big time."

"He mentioned, yes," Castiel answers, somewhat vaguely, like he's still not all here. "I didn't... I'm not..." he swings around suddenly to face Dean, looking totally out to sea. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure why I came here at all."

Dean takes a moment to drink in what's in front of him and his fist impression is, _this poor bastard._

The guy really does look lost. His neat brown hair has been tousled quite a bit like he'd run his hands through it a dozen times in agitation. His rumpled suit and backwards tie. The stupid trench coat. It hasn't rained in two weeks, what the fuck is he wearing it for?

But it all comes down to the eyes. Castiel Novak had been caught, but not enough to not look downright scared about it. The fear is as plain as day in his crystal clear blue eyes. Dean, perhaps a little cruelly, has left the man with enough sense for him to realize that what he is doing is out of character at best, and skeezy at worst.

Not like Dean disagrees or anything.

And in that singular moment, Dean can't do anything for it except let it go. He shoves his hands in his pockets, smile never wavering. For once in his damn life, he doesn't want to eat his dinner. "Hey," he says softly. "You like burgers?"

Castiel fumbles the question for a second, mouth opening and then closing. But the fear dissipates into confusion, and that's a much better sign. "What?"

"Burgers," Dean says more clearly. "I know the best dive in town. You won't regret it. You hungry?"

Something like cautious hope and deep interest crosses Castiel's face. "I am quite a fan of burgers."

Dean grins harder. "I knew I'd like you," he says jovially. "Come on, I'm driving."

It takes about three beers, a huge everything burger, and a side of pie for Dean to come to terms with the fact that he has made both the best and worst decision of his life to not have sucked his prey dry the second he had the opportunity. Castiel Novak is exactly as nerdy as his appearance would make him seem, but also as awesome as his looks and disarming smile made Dean hope he would be.

He can't take a joke for the life of him, but knows that about himself and rolls with it. When Castiel points out somewhat primly that Dean may wish to order a salad or other vegetable with his greasy mess of a burger that is twice the size of Castiel's, Dean had grinned and answered that ketchup _was_ a vegetable, the FDA said so, as he'd drowned the top bun with it.

Castiel, bless his heart, had actually Google'd it and found the hard truth of the American diet to his utter dismay. But he hadn't been offended in the slightest when Dean had laughed at him. He'd simply held up his beer bottle and clinked the neck to Dean's, drinking deeply. 

He's easy to talk to. Awkward on the whole when he's not in his natural habitat, but Dean likes that about him, too. 

And by the end of the night, Dean already knows how thoroughly fucked he is. The realization comes on slowly during the dinner and conversation that goes on and on until closing time. Then it creeps up more as they walk together through the local park, unwilling to go their separate ways just yet.

It solidifies when the sky is beginning to turn gray with the dawn and they're both yawning more than talking. Dean walks Castiel back to his car and they exchange numbers.

Then Castiel's eyes flick towards Dean's lips before he says goodbye, and that's the nail in the coffin.

Dean leans forwards and kisses him, dry and gentle. Castiel shivers slightly at the contact, mouth parting just enough for Dean to breathe out and then back in, tasting Castiel's life force. A tiny sip. Nothing more. It won't even harm Castiel except to perhaps make him slightly more tired for a day, but he won't even notice since they've been out all night.

In the back of his mind Dean refuses to acknowledge that he's taking a taste just to keep himself going a little while longer. To see more of Castiel. To know more about him. This is a totally different kind of thrill that he hasn't felt ever, so he wants to indulge it. Of course, the endgame can't be avoided in any case, but maybe... maybe this is what it was like for Sam. Maybe Sam will confirm it once he's done yelling at Dean for being an self-sacrificing idiot later. He's the forgiving sort.

Dean pulls away already feeling better, and watches the stars in Castiel's dazed blue eyes for a minute.

Man, he'd put those there without using his power. Natural charm and everything. He's still got it, for what it's worth.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel says, a little hoarse.

Offering him a crooked smile, Dean answers, "'night, Cas."

A hand grasps his jack sleeve before he can step away. "I'll... um... I'll be hearing from you again?"

Dean swings back in and kisses him again, totally at peace where he is. "Bet your ass you will," he assures him, and with a wink, turns and walks towards the back of the theatre to his own car. He doesn't turn around because if he does, he knows he won't leave.

Naturally, back at home, Sam gives him hell for all of five minutes before dragging his brother into his arms and squeezing the air from his lungs and whispering, "maybe this time, Dean. Maybe this time."

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

Dean isn't exactly sure what "this time" means, except for the fact that this probably isn't it. Six months go by in a blink, and all he learns is that he is driving down an ugly road with no brakes.

His thrall goes both ways. He's just as addicted to Castiel as Castiel is to him and it can't be stopped. The worst part is knowing that it isn't just because he needs to feed in order to stay alive. It's because he honestly has fallen for the guy and knows intrinsically that Sam had the long straw. He'd been lucky. There's no precedent for what he'd done, and for all anyone knows, it could be a complete fluke. He's been entirely forthcoming with Dean about what it had taken to break the cycle for him, but somehow, it's beyond Dean.

Every time he sees Castiel he wants to dump the poor bastard and run for the hills, but he physically cannot do that. The claws from his poison are in them both, and they are helpless to it. He contents himself with the smallest amounts of Castiel's energy that can sustain him, but the well won't just refill once it's been drunk from.

It becomes obvious that they're both starting to fade.

Castiel still greets him with a smile. That's the hardest part. He's still happy to see Dean. Breathes him in like the very air even though Dean Winchester is the whole reason that he never has enough energy these days and his clothes hang too loosely on his body. Why he has a "cold" that he can't shake because his immune system is shot.

And Dean... Dean's an asshole.

It's a Friday night when Castiel welcomes him into his home with a beatific smile and dark rings under his eyes. He yawns incessantly, and apologizes about it constantly.

"Sorry," he says for the fifth time. "It's really not you. It's this cold. I went to the doctor but he just said to rest more. I had a bunch of tests done and nothing else seems to be wrong. I probably need to sleep more. I'm not used to illness so it's really knocking me down."

The truth of it sticks behind Dean's teeth like it's been glued there. He can't say what he wants to because it's impossible. Unbelievable. Horrifying.

It probably won't be long. The certainty twitches in what's left of his soul. The instinct that knows death.

"Hey," Dean murmurs. "C'mere, I'll warm you up."

He's not sure if this is a mercy, but it feels like one.

Castiel shrugs the blanket from his shoulders, shivering briefly, then steps right into Dean's waiting arms without hesitation.

Dean locks away everything. His heart, his power, his truth, his wishes, and he kisses Castiel hard and deep.

Immediately, Castiel's breathing increases and he throws his arms around Dean's shoulders, putting his weight behind it as much in passion as in being unable to fully support himself from the slightest exertion.

Dean's hands are hot as they slip under Castiel's baggy night shirt over his trembling abs and up his chest to rub his thumbs harshly over his nipples. "How's that?" he says lowly into Castiel's ear before nipping at the lobe. "Feel better?"

"Feels amazing," Castiel slurs with an audible gasp as his dick twitches against Dean's hip, easily felt through his thin pajama pants. 

Dean knows the way to the bedroom by instinct now, so he doesn't even bother to look as he strips Castiel of his shirt and begins unbuttoning his own, all the while kissing Castiel long, slow, and thoroughly as he uses his body weight to move them through the house to the master bedroom. 

He's not entirely sure what will happen when he fucks Castiel, thrall or not, but every time they meet, every time they touch, the want grows slowly larger to a _need_ But the worry can't take root when Castiel is here in his arms, bold in his passion, artless in his desire, breathing hot patches into the dip of Dean's collar bone as they rut against each other.

They tumble into the unmade bed, Dean pushing off their pants as they situate themselves. He crawls up the mattress like a big cat hunting its prey, Castiel not even blinking as he watches and licks his lips. Foreplay has been pointless to them for a time now. Every time they look at each other in a certain way, the fire is lit bright and hot as shit. Teasing it out doesn't matter in the slightest. They know what to give and what they want to receive, and that's the beauty of being so in tune. It's probably the _only_ good thing about this godforsaken curse, but it's potent nonetheless. 

Dean settles himself over Castiel's hips, sinuously thrusting against him, dragging their dicks together nice and slow, precome already wetting them nicely. The sparks that dance up and down his spine never fail to thrill him. His eyes fall to half-mast as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, lightly signing out a pleasured sound. Feels so perfect all the time, every time. Castiel is perfect for him. Regardless of the curse, he's the only one Dean's wanted in this way for this long. It sucks. It rocks. He splays his hands over Castiel's chest, dragging his nails down his entire torso lightly, just enough to leave a barely-visible trail of red marks.

Castiel's head dips back on a long moan, lower back arching slightly, flushed neck exposed.

Without messing up his tortuously languid movements, Dean curls forward to nip at the mole on Castiel's neck that he loves to focus on when they're making out. "You feel so good," he whispers, blood on fire with need.

Castiel bucks his hips up, but doesn't try to rush. He plants the soles of his feet on the bed, thrusting up shallowly to meet Dean's rhythm. "Dean," he rasps, sounding completely wrecked.

"That's right," Dean purrs, grinning. "Tell me what you want, Cas. I'll give it to you. You know I will."

"I want you," Castiel moans, reaching for Dean. "I want all of you. Give it to me, Dean. I've been waiting. I prepared myself. Please!"

With an order like that, there's no possible way to turn it down. Dean strokes over Castiel's warm skin, tracing the outlines of his muscles. Kissing his favorite spots. Licking his way over a meandering path. Castiel trembles underneath him, helpless to do much else besides hold onto Dean as if his life depends on it, fingers digging in. His breathless encouragement gradually fades into wordless begging, and Dean has never felt so whole.

He spreads Castiel's knees wide, settles between them and slower than he thought possible in his hunger, slides into Castiel with a long, measured thrust.

Castiel's hands shoot up to grab the headboard. He's completely open. Completely at Dean's mercy. Staring at him wide-eyed and euphoric.

It's the best Dean's ever had, and he hasn't even moved yet.

But when he does, Castiel is there. He rolls his hips into every thrust, snapping against Dean's abdomen hard. He lets Dean set the slow pace, building them towards the tidal wave of release without rush.

Half of Dean just wants to make this last forever, and the other half is pinpointed on his baser nature, keeping it in check as it gnashes its teeth against his restraint. If he loses concentration, it'll be the end. But... but it feels _so fucking good_.

He's not going to be able to hold out long, though it doesn't appear to be a problem the way that Castiel is crying out underneath him, gradually moving faster and eventually taking himself in hand to stroke his leaking cock loosely.

Dean watches, awestruck. He's beautiful, this unlucky human who fell into him.

Ecstasy rushes up his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin. "Cas," he moans.

"Dean!" Castiel gasps in answer. "Don't stop. Harder, I need... I love this. _Love you_ , love you!"

The stark, honest declaration sends Dean over the edge with a shout. He comes hard, feeling almost like his muscles are locking up. And in the split second of white-out, it happens. He feels the chains loosen, and his eyes glow an unearthly green. He knows that Castiel sees it the second he comes, eyes wide, mouth open, expression fogged over with both bliss and shock.

Instinctively, Dean sucks in a huge breath, pulling the life force from Castiel and only able to clamp it down with a harsh curse when Castiel's eyes roll back in his head and he falls unconscious.

" _Fuck_!" Dean snarls, both horrified and more alive than he's been in a year. "Fuck!" Hands shaking, he reaches out and presses two fingers against Castiel's carotid artery. There's a steady beat there. Fast, but not critical.

Dean sighs. "Fuck," he whispers. 

Gingerly, he climbs out of the bed and carefully cleans up their mess. He dresses Castiel in his pajamas again and tucks him into bed, not daring to touch him anymore than necessary.

He gathers his own clothes and closes the bedroom door behind him, yanking on his layers as fast as he can. He shouldn't have done that. It's over now. It's all completely over. He'll take the punishment. He can't do this anymore. If it's gotta be either him or Cas, it's gonna be Cas. It's always _been_ Cas.

He can hear the siren's song pulsing in his head. The call to the sea and to death. The biological imperative of his kind.

There's no ocean in this town, no rivers. But behind Castiel's house is a large lake, deep with secrets and plenty of space to hide just a few more if it wants.

Slowly, as if in a trace, Dean leaves through the back door down through the grass, the moss, towards the dock. He stares out at the water, letting it sing to him. It's so familiar. Soothing and hateful.

The chains binding his soul start to crack.

He must stand there for hours. Notices nothing else besides reflections on the glassy surface of the ice cold water until there are unsteady footsteps from behind.

Resigned, Dean turns around.

Castiel is making his way down the dock, looking terrified and murderous, though he's wobbling horribly in his fatigue. He stops nearly within reach of Dean, arms wrapped tightly around himself to shield himself from the cold, but it's useless. This is a different kind of ice. His teeth grinding is audible over his bitten words. "Dean... what the hell... what's.... w-what's happening t-to me?" What did you do?!"

He should have stayed away. If he'd only stayed in his house just a little while longer, he would have been safe. Dean would have won and Castiel would have been okay.

He has to give into himself, doesn't he? Dean sidles up to Castiel. His expression is anguished, but his movements are like a seduction. Like he can't help it. Like he knows what he needs to do. "I'm sorry, Cas," he says, and it's sincere. "I'd hoped I could stop it. I'd hoped I'd be able to resist." He holds his hands out, palms up. "But I can't. You can't." He's devastated.

Castiel reaches out automatically. The poison has him body and soul now. What's left of them, anyway. He can't stop himself either, and he certainly doesn't look like he's trying to. His fingers slide up Dean's to his palms. Up his wrists, then his forearms. It makes both of them shudder. The tight grip he grabs around Dean's forearms makes the man's muscles cord, but he doesn't try to break away. "Tell me, Dean." His teeth start to chatter.

"I will."

Castiel releases his grip, stepping closer and not able to let his hands leave Dean's body. Dean moves with him until they're sharing breath, and Castiel's hands smooth up his shoulders to the back of his neck, pushing his hair up and cupping the back of his head. He blows out a hard, sobbing breath. "I can't stand it. It hurts. I still want you so much. It wasn't enough, earlier. It feels like... _Why wasn't it enough_?"

Dean blinks, their gazes meet, and his eyes flash brilliant lightning-green for a split second again. It must be terrifying, but Castiel's feet are frozen in place. "Please, Cas," he begs. "I need you to hear me out. Please."

Trembling with the inability to get away, Castiel grits, "what the hell are you?"

The air around them is charged with electricity. It's not like he's constantly trying to make any of this more difficult. He's desperate for Castiel. It's his curse. His feelings are genuine, though. But... this is just who he is. He leans in so that their chests touch. His lips brush over Castiel's cheek in a light caress that is barely there, yet still inflames him. Voice a low, sensual murmur, he admits, "I'm in love with you, Castiel Novak, and I'm a siren."

Castiel makes an anguished, relieved sound and kisses Dean like he'll drown without it. Even though he's going to either way.

Heart breaking, Dean kisses back, holds Castiel close like a vise, seals their lips together. His whole being sings with his poisonous song to have Castiel. He doesn't want to do what he has to do because he knows, in his very bones, that he truly does love this man. He takes a step backwards. Castiel goes with him willingly. Another step. Castiel clings around his shoulders. Dean tenderly strokes up the back of Castiel's neck. His other hand secured around the human's waist. One last step, and they're both tipping backwards into the freezing black water.

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

Humans struggle against death every time. Any situation, any time, they fight it. They never accept the inevitable. It's probably impossible.

And yet.

They're so willing to do hopeless things.

Castiel does not fight Dean. He keeps their lips together in a fervent final kiss. He holds on so hard that he rips Dean's shirt. He relaxes the rest of his body. He allows them to sink and sink and sink and sink.

He has never known how deep the lake is.

It is very, very dark.

**~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~**

On the last beat of Castiel's heart, Dean sucks in his entire life force directly from his mouth. Every last drop. Every part of him. Every echo that is, was, and will never be.

He feels the sickening lurch and snap of the thrall breaking.

_It takes so long to reach the surface._

Eventually they breach the top, and Dean heaves them out of the water, artlessly tossing Castiel's body to the dock. 

The cold night air needles his skin, but he doesn't pay it any attention.

_Cas. Castiel._

He's dead.

Dean cups his face, staring at his blue lips. "Cas," he says. "What can I...? What should I...?"

A life for a life, Sam had said. Simple as that. A willingness to do it. A love strong enough to give it all up. Sounded like some hippie bullshit at the time. Dean had scoffed, though Sam had been unable to explain it any other way. Only what he'd been feeling when Eileen had died.

Dean had asked what would have happened if Sam hadn't loved Eileen enough. If he'd had the tiniest sliver of a doubt.

Sam had laughed and said he'd have died for her, of course. Like it was nothing. Like it was something he was positive could never happen.

It could happen. "Him or me," Dean murmurs. He loves him. He loves him so fucking much. He loves him enough to give him anything. He doesn't deserve this end, and Dean sure as shit isn't going to let him have it.

He pinches Castiel's nose, blocking the airway, draws in all the air he can hold, slots his mouth against Castiel's, summons up every bit of the stolen essence inside of him, and breathes out everything forcefully.

His body howls at him as the broken thrall is forcefully shoved out his his veins. All that beautiful, full life put back where it belongs. His muscles sag and his head grows fuzzy. His vision blurs and everything goes weak.

His body flashes searingly hot, and then...

And then it's over.

Dean falls back on his ass, shaking uncontrollably. He feels like he might be sick. Suddenly he realizes that he is freezing, starving, can't see shit in the darkness, and somehow _really_ has to pee.

 _Human_.

He's.

Human.

Probably.

It kinda sucks.

Castiel's eyes fly open and he rolls to his side, coughing violently.

Dean scrambles on numb limbs to steady him. "It's okay," he assures him. "You're fine, Cas. You're gonna be fine. You're alive. I stopped it. I can't believe I... but I _did_ and you're gonna be fine."

Castiel's head whips up. His eyes go out of focus with the sudden vertigo caused by the movement, and he sways. 

Dean steadies his shoulders and then lets go.

"I'm not dead," Castiel says wonderingly. "Didn't I drown? I felt it all... stop."

"It did," Dean says pointedly, beyond able to sugarcoat it. "It's just... I gave it all back."

Castiel squints at him. "Gave what back?"

"Your life," Dean answers, avoiding Castiel's eyes by staring at the boardwalk planks. "It's... why you were so tired since you met me. I've been feeding on your life the whole time. It's the only way I can survive. At my concert... I caught you in my thrall, and after that..." He shrugs. "Biology took over."

Castiel is silent for a long time. "You're serious," he says flatly.

Dean looks back up. "You saw it, man. It's the truth." He gestures widely to encompass all of Castiel. "You feel fine now, don't you? Even though you drowned. Better than you have in say, six months?"

Slowly, Castiel takes stock and Dean can see the realization dawning. He says nothing, simply staring owlishly at Dean. But then, he asks, "why did you save me?"

Dean shakes his head, coughing a laugh, "because I love you, you idiot. I didn't want you to die, so I gave it all back to you."

Castiel's eyes skitter away. "Would that have... what did it do to you?"

"Took away my power, I think," Dean says. "Or most of it? Dunno. I gotta ask my brother. He kinda did the same thing for one of his thralls years ago and he's pretty much human now, far as we can tell."

Sounding like he's barely heard a word, Castiel mutters, "I need to research this lore."

"You can," Dean says. 

Castiel sits up properly, fully facing Dean. "Was what you did supposed to kill you?"

"Yeah."

"But it didn't because..." his face scrunches. "Because you love me?"

"Dunno," Dean admits. "Sounds kinda fucking cheesy when you say it. I just... Cas, all I wanted was for you to live. I wanted to stop hurting you. That's it. That was the only thing I was thinking about. I love you and I wanted you to stay alive."

Castiel blinks. "Your brother, you mentioned?"

Dean blinks back. "Yeah?"

"He has lore?"

"He's a nerd."

Castiel climbs to his feet. Then he holds his hand out to haul Dean up, roles completely reversed now; Dean Winchester the man with the legs like a newborn deer. "I want to meet him."

"You. What."

Castiel slings Dean's arm around his shoulders and bears his weight as he guides him back towards the house. "I want to meet your brother. Talk to him about this. And his thrall, if they're willing."

"He'd cry big, fat, nerdy tears at the idea." He stops, Castiel stumbling with the sudden pause. "You're taking this really well. It's weird."

Castiel sighs. "When have I not been weird, according to you?"

"Salient point."

"I'm expecting the shock to set in later once the adrenaline crash happens, but for now, I want us both to put on dry clothes, and then I want you to tell me everything. I may love you, but I can't be with someone willing to lie to my face forever."

"You... wanna be with me?" Dean asks, absolutely gobsmacked.

Castiel glances over. "For twenty years I've dealt with drugged up rock stars, teen idol assbutts, high class groupie hookers, and egos larger than the heaven's above. I think I can handle you, if you're willing to open up and be honest with me from now on."

Startled, Dean laughs outright. "Yeah, okay, fair enough. Then, I guess I owe you a swarthy sea tale."

"You owe me a lifetime," Castiel corrects. "But we have to start somewhere."

It's a good place. One that Dean can spend a lifetime in.


End file.
